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How can you tell that you've overdone the moaning and woman-on-the-verge-of-a-nervous-breakdown-act? When people (i.e. relatives, i.e. your mum) give you self-help psycho-books for your birthday. Ah well. Serves me right, I suppose. To be fair, I got lots of other -more attractive- gifts from my parents as well so must not complain.

As a business obligation prevents her from keeping our weekly swim-date tonight, the Mermaid suggested celebrating me last night on the eve of my birthday. Hurrah! First we tried a new restaurant, then we proceeded to Café Leopold for some more "intimacy" and the Mermaid whipped out a self-made bear-shaped cake and her lighter. Gasp! Ever since a rather traumatic experience with TGI Fridays' waiters years ago, I try not to give my birthday-girl cover away in public places. Given the rather slim size of the candles and the fact that we really were sitting in a secluded corner, I generously let her light them:
I also got: a bunch of tulips, H&M vouchers and absolutely covetable Baby Blonde hair products by Frederic Fekkai. Well, I've told you before she's a star. Although you wouldn't necessarily guess it from this picture, taken in the subway on our way home last night:

For the record, I have the model's full permission to publish this photo. Fetching hat, no?

This morning, I've been showered with gifts by my colleagues. Aaaahh! More on that later. In exchange for their offerings, I've dished Jamie Oliver's cheesecake, potentially coma-inducing with almost a kilo (!) of full-fat cream cheese in it.